Page 24 of Beloved Beast

Rainer did not have any contact with Nazi spies already entrenched in England, as he worked independently. Besides, most of them were poorly trained and stood out like sore thumbs, whereas he’d managed to move about London the past three years with relative ease.

Helen began to moan in short, panting breaths, which meant she was about to come. Back to the task at hand. Wrapping his arms under her knees, he spread her open more and thrust with further diligence. Hurry up, you hag. When at last she cried out, Rainer let himself go, his teeth gritting with the effort.

He rolled off her and reached for his gold cigarette case by the bed. Lighting a Dunhill cigarette with his matching lighter, he took a puff before passing it to Helen.

“Oh, God. Brad, what you do to me,” she murmured breathlessly.

His undercover name, Braddock Caldwell. The pseudonym sounded like a hero from an overwrought melodrama, but the ladies liked it. He was aware his cool, handsome looks and tall, muscular build were the tools needed for seduction, and he used them well. Along with the impeccable manners and speech of a proper English gentleman, the physical aspect always sealed the deal with these forlorn, desperate women. As did the often assumed vague promises of something better and long-lasting. “Glad you enjoyed it, old girl. Can’t dally, must be off shortly. I have a meeting tonight.”

“Another woman, I suppose,” she pouted as she drew in more smoke from the cigarette.

“Jealous? Come now,” he scoffed.

Helen passed the cigarette to him and sat upright. “I want more between us, Brad. I know I’m much older than you but…”

Dummkopf alte frau. He would have to end this tonight. Considering what trickle of information he’d received, this affair had long outlived its usefulness. He was hoping to gather intel on the female spy German military intelligence was seeking all across Europe. Thanks to a photograph, the young woman had been tracked to London. Rainer’s assignment was to find and eliminate her. Since the Enigma machine lay at the heart of this, MI-6 would be involved. Hence his trying to get close to Parker’s executive secretary. A complete waste. Disappointing.

Annoyed, he stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and sat up straight, swinging his long legs over the side of the bed. He had his back to her. “You are preoccupied tonight, my sweet. Work overwhelming you again?” He would try one last time.

She embraced him from behind, nuzzling his neck. He fought down his revulsion. “Stay a while longer and we can talk,” she pleaded as she nibbled his earlobe. He did not reply nor react to her laughable attempt at seduction.

“I want more between us than sex, Helen.” He nearly choked on the words. “If you cannot tell me of your life then there can be nothing more.” The tone of his voice was cool, but he made sure she heard a touch of regret.

She laid her cheek against his back. “I don’t have much of a life, except when I’m with you.” Yes, tonight would be the last night. This could not continue. She’d become far too attached to him. “As for work, it’s been quite busy of late, though I am not privy to all the details. It involves that horrid-looking man who works for Mr. Parker.”

Rainer’s attention honed in on this new information. “Rather judgmental of you, my sweet. Was he burned in a fire? Or perhaps he was born ugly.”

A girlish giggle slipped from her throat. “No, nothing like that, though he is scarred. His skin is gray, if you can imagine. And the left side of his face is covered in thin, white scars, from his forehead, down the temple, and spread out across his cheek. God knows what happened to him. It is too bad, for he is tall and well-built, much like you, darling.”

“Poor blighter. No doubt has a tragic past. I can’t imagine him working for your superior. Wouldn’t he stand out?”

She kissed his neck and he fought down a shudder of disgust. “That’s what I say, but Mr. Parker relies on him quite a bit. Can you believe I once heard Mr. Parker call him ‘Uncle Luke?’ The intercom was still on. Well, I immediately clicked off, but it makes no sense, as Mr. Newman is at least Mr. Parker’s age or even younger.”

The scarred man’s name was Luke Newman. Rainer could barely contain his excitement. But he did, remaining unruffled and detached as always. Could he and Parker be related? It gave him something to go on. Why wouldn’t a man use his trusted uncle to assist him with an important assignment? Like the relocation of a lady spy? “Sometimes uncles and nephews are close in age. It can happen. Anyway, enough of work.” He turned and playfully pushed her on her back, causing her to giggle again. Right now, he could easily slit her throat and let her bleed out in this bed. How deliciously tempting.

But it would not be sensible. Instead, he would reward her for her information before he disappeared from her life forever. As he kissed her deeply, he trailed his hand down her body until his fingers found her mound. He thrust them in as his thumb brushed by her clit and she moaned with each stroke.

Once he finished here, it was off to track down the scarred, gray-skinned Luke Newman. If he was in the company of a woman who matched the photo he secretly carried, he would kill them both.

* * * *

Around half past six, Luke and Gillian headed to Charlwood. The conversation during the journey was impersonal and brief, as if both were lost in their thoughts. Outside the village limits, his insides churned. He should have refused this assignment. Damn, he’d been enchanted by Gillian’s photo and her subtle, melancholy look. Perhaps because he’d seen the expression on his own face the few times he bothered to gaze in a mirror.

But now he was about to face his past, apprehension set in. This rambling, gothic home of Reed’s was where he became the subject of a bizarre experiment. He’d died in a carriage race, plunging off a cliff. The only reason he wasn’t killed instantly was the poor horses broke his fall. When he did die, he’d been buried with prayers said over his grave, though no one mourned him. Yet, Reed dug him up hours later, kept him on ice for three days, then during an intense storm brought him back to life by means of lightning and an electric generator. In the cellar of the house.

When he’d managed to open his eyes, he could not move or speak, nor remember who he was or anything of his life. During the next few weeks, Reed and Glenna kept him hidden as he made a remarkable recovery, though his mind remained cloaked in darkness. And he fell in love with Glenna, and she with him. A stab of pain shot through his heart as the memories flooded his brain. Yes, he thought he could handle all the recollections, including his debauched past as Viscount Ravenswood. Fool.

Luke pulled the auto around to the rear entrance and turned off the ignition. Gillian clasped his hand and squeezed. “This isn’t going to be easy for you, is it?” she whispered.

She has no idea. “No.”

“You said it’s been many years. How many?”

God, how he wanted to laugh hysterically. Replying close to fifty would not be smart, but neither did he like lying about it. They weren’t supposed to grow close. He wasn’t supposed to propose an affair. If they’d remained detached and professional, none of these questions would even have come up. But they did. “Seven years.”

“Saying ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ sounds feeble. But know I understand what you’re feeling.”

Without thinking, he lifted her hand to his lips and laid a brief kiss to it. Her words and her touch assisted in calming the storm raging inside him. As he let go of her hand, he reached in the glove box for a torch and flicked the switch to the on position. They both exited the car, and he fished the keys out of his pocket. He’d often used this servants’ entrance to go on his many nocturnal walks in 1895.